The Other Guy
by bewareofdragons
Summary: Once again, Bruce had no idea how he'd gotten there. It looked like some empty field, miles from the nearest civilisation. At least, he hoped the field had been empty.


**The Other Guy**

Fandom: Avengers Assembled (Marvel Cinematic Universe)

Summary:

Once again, Bruce had no idea how he'd gotten there. It looked like some empty field, miles from the nearest civilisation. At least he hoped the field had been empty.

 **Warning: Contains mild profanity. Mentions of suicide.**

Written for the prompts "Amnesia" and "Mutation" on my HC Bingo card. As always, please read and review!

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 **Disclaimer: I don't own the Avengers or any of its characters. This is purely for personal enjoyment, not profit.**

 _Green._ The other guy had a thing about the colour green; he seemed to be drawn to it like a magnet. Personally, Bruce disliked the colour. The Other guy was green. Brussel Sprouts and Lima beans were green. Nothing good was ever green.

Like the grass he was laying face down in with no bloody clue as to how he'd gotten there. Well, he did have an inkling as to how, so really, the issue was where _here_ actually _was_.

Bruce had never been a partier but he had been drunk. He'd had hangovers. Many nights when he'd been low, he'd drunken himself into a stupor till the early hours. Didn't do much to brighten tomorrow, only made things worse, rewarding him with the mother of headaches to add to his troubles.

Waking up after accidentally loosing control was always worse than any hangover he'd ever had. It felt like he'd been hit by a small planet. His head hurt and muscles ached.

Drinking had never caused him to wake up in a strange place, with no knowledge how he'd got there, though. Now the experience was uncomfortably familiar.

When he'd gotten drunk there had at least been alcohol and the impression of a semi-good time involved but now the memory loss was a blank space where it seemed like he'd ceased to exist. Hours of his memory just gone.

Once again, Bruce had no clue where he was, let alone how he'd gotten there. It looked like some empty field, miles from the nearest place of civilisation. At least he hoped that the field had been empty.

That was what he hated the most. He could deal with waking up buck-ass nude, in the middle of god knows where, tired and starving but he hated the uncertainty. He hated not knowing if the other guy had hurt somebody.

It wouldn't be the first time.

People had a tendency to get hurt around him, because of his condition. Everyone he had ever loved, or cared about had been hurt in the end, if not because of him, then by the ones who hunted him. Those who weren't left him once they found out. No-one ever stayed once they knew.

He didn't remember. He didn't remember what set him off, what made him angry and let the other guy free. He didn't even remember what day of the week it was. He thought it was a Tuesday but it could have been bleeding Christmas day for all he knew. When he lost it, it was like he blinked out of existance. He lost all sense of time along with himself and everything that made him _him_.

It had been a while since he had lost control.

It was always harder when he lost it.

When he let the other guy out he was able to hold onto some small semblance of control. He managed to retain tiny scraps of his sanity. The other guy would listen and when he changed back, he could sleep soundly knowing he hadn't hurt anybody.

It was different when he lost it.

The other guy would not listen to rhyme or reason. The Hulk could not be tamed.

Once his Adrenaline levels rose and the other guy was free, that was it. Bruce Banner was gone, shoved into some dark corner of his psyche. He'd wake up, hours later with no memory of what he'd done. There had been a time, a couple of years ago, when he'd feared a day would come when he wouldn't come back.

It still scared him.

For years he'd shunned the rest of humanity, keeping them as far away as possible, to keep them safe. He'd fought the other guy, been at war with the mutant green thing inside him. He'd constantly been fighting with himself.

For years, they'd dragged each other back and fourth, to the other side of the world and back again. Bruce had tried everything he could think of to break free, to fix the mutation, to rid of himself of his unwelcome company. One day, he'd put a bullet into his brain, just wanting it all to end. That had gone down well; Bruce woke up several days later to find that the other guy had promptly spat it out as if it were a watermelon pip.

Finally, forced into a corner with no where else to go, the other guy and himself had made peace, just in time for the beginning of the end of the world.

Now, it felt strange waking up alone.

Bruce had grown used to the team looking after him. He'd grown used to waking up on the jet, halfway home with a blanket thrown across him. Something soft underneath him and a pile of clean clothes folded up next to his head with a foil packet of military food stacked on top.

He didn't want to take it for granted but their absence made him worry why. It wasn't because he was selfish but because the Avengers were his friends, his family. Why weren't they there? They weren't there because they were dead for all he knew. What couldn't he remember?

A whirring overhead brought him out musing. Bruce warily open one eye to spot the black jet coming in to hover over the field. _Not dead, just late._ He smiled down at the tiny scar on his arm, where the microscopic transponder had been injected several months ago.

 _Thank You, Tony._


End file.
